


Fairoh

by Xenolis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 07:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20502800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenolis/pseuds/Xenolis
Summary: Mirror, mirror, it's far too lateWho could've predicted such a fate?Mirror, mirror, now that it's darkerWhy are you stuck with Peter Parker?





	Fairoh

**Author's Note:**

> Written May '18, and?? I don't actually hate this one???

It may have been two in the morning and pouring with rain, but that wasn't about to stop Peter from dumpster diving. He had initially intended to patrol around Queens as Spider-Man, however crime seemed to be dwindling and, well, then he noticed a large dumpster, and he just couldn't help himself when he saw a perfectly good outdated gaming set nestled amongst some plastic. And _sure_, it may have been covered in rotten eggs and _yes,_ he might've accidentally fallen into the dumpster a few times while trying to dig up some abandoned treasures due to his eagerness, but in his defence this was the greatest dumpster he'd ever stumbled across!

He'd excavated all sorts of interesting things, like a collection of old phones – also covered in slimy egg – and a retro keyboard that wasn't _too_ bad in the poultry embryo department – at least, not in comparison to everything else. _Seriously_, who bought so many eggs? Everything was swimming in the nasty, smelly goo-

But he was getting off topic. Peter tied his blue jumper around his waist, over his Spider-Man suit, to make some room in his backpack. There were no convenient plastic bags around to wrap his findings in, so he had to suck it up and shove the messy tech on top of his clothes, mentally thanking his biology homework for taking the brunt of the ooze – his teacher couldn't be too mad, surely, that he was so invested with the life cycle of a chicken that he coated his papers in the sulphuric scent – which, by the way, he thought he was actually starting to get used to.

Oh, nope, nevermind - a whiff of the stench made his stomach churn and he had to roll up the lower half of his mask in case he was sick. Good lord, that was _terrible._ It smelt worse than when Mr. Stark got invested in a project and forgot to shower for a week, and that was _bad._

Peter wrinkled his nose, wholly ready to web his way back home and away from this cluster-cluck of a situation – okay, maybe he _did_ giggle at that bad pun – but something caught his eye when he spared a glance back at the dumpster. He hesitated, debating whether it was worth becoming an even bigger omelette, before giving into his curiosity and peeking inside at the glinty-shiny thing.

Half-wrapped in a mouldy banana peel, there was some kind of... mirror? He pushed away the old food and timidly grasped it by the handle, keeping it away from his abused nose until he had confirmed that it was actually _not_ smeared with unfertilised bird-babies, which was a win in itself. It looked quite old, with a tarnished golden handle and frame with minimal embellishments, reminding Peter of the one from _Beauty and the Beast._ He wiped away some of the grime, holding it up and pulling stupid faces so he could laugh at his reflection.

If anyone were to ask, he'd tell them that he most definitely did _not_ shriek in surprise and almost drop the mirror when a face appeared that wasn't his own: no, he certainly handled the situation calmly, like a responsible adult.

The hand-mirror was dangling from a web. Peter was cautious, worried that the strange face might steal his soul or something, but another squinted peek down confirmed that the face just looked bewildered. He raised it back up, although still took care to hold it at arm's length to observe with suspicion.

“Uh... hello, I'm... I'm Peter,” the teenager offered, flashing a nervous smile as it was the only part of his expression still visible.

“Hello, Peter. I'm...” There was a thoughtful pause. “(Y/N).”

He stared for a few more moments, amazed that he actually got a response. “Hey, Karen, do you know what this is?”

“I'll run some scans. Although, might I remind you that you should be asleep?” Her tone had a vague note of disappointment that made him wince a little, glancing up at the dark sky.

“Who are you talking to?” You inquired with palpable confusion, creases appearing between your eyebrows as you frowned.

“My AI, in my- my suit, she's- her name is Karen,” he explained with a nod, only to freeze and look at you again with realisation. “Oh! Maybe you're an AI, too! Like- like JARVIS, or FRIDAY, or- Karen, what's the one from that old show, Red Dwarf?”

“I believe you're referring to Holly,” she suggested helpfully.

“Yes, that's the one! Thank you.” Peter brought the mirror closer to gaze at, glancing over your features as if that would hold the answer. “Are you an AI, (Y/N)?”

You blinked, your mouth moving silently as you tried to form words. “I am... afraid I do not know what you mean.”

“That's alright! The only other option would be that you've been imprisoned inside this mirror, and that- that just sounds far-fetched, doesn't it? Anyway-” He tugged his mask back down to cover his face completely, shooting a web and launching himself into the air, “I need to get going, before Aunt May realises I'm still out beyond curfew. Oh, she's so going to kill me...”

*

School couldn't pass quickly enough. The lessons were mind-numbing and Peter was uncomfortably aware of the mirror in his bag, pressing up against his ankle where the egg-scented backpack had slumped to one side, as if beckoning him to open it up. He couldn't wait to show his best friend. Finally, after an age of waiting, the bell for lunch trilled out painfully, and he didn't miss a beat when swiping his bag off the ground and practically sprinting out of the classroom.

Peter sat down at the lunch table, lightly sliding his tray of inedible delicacies of the canteen to one side so he could place down the hand mirror. Your face materialised after a few moments of calling to you, and you peered up at the stranger who seemed awestruck by your mere presence.

“Ned, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), meet Ned, my best friend,” Peter introduced the two of you, awkwardly motioning between your flat form and his physical buddy.

“That's so cool!” Ned couldn't help but pick up the mirror, his lips parted in amazement as he examined you with vigour. “What are you- sorry, was that insensitive? Uh...”

“I am (Y/N),” you responded, glancing between the two boys curiously. “It was not insensitive at all.”

“No- he means, like...” Peter fumbled for words, wrinkling his nose as he stared at his friend, desperately trying to work out how to phrase it. “Like, we're human. What are you?”

“Oh,” you paused, breaking eye contact momentarily. “Then, I am also human.”

“How can you be human? You're in a mirror. Are you even alive?” Ned tapped the reflective surface with a finger, causing you to recoil like a startled fish in an aquarium.

“Ned!” The brunet boy exclaimed in exasperation, carefully taking back the mirror. “Sorry, he's... subtlety isn't his strong suit.”

“It's a genuine question!” He retorted defensively, “what if you're kidnapping someone?! Or... would it be stealing? Kidnapping is for people, right? But... that's a mirror with a person inside... so technically, you're stealing...”

Peter glared heatedly at his friend, softening the look into a sheepish one as he looked at you. “I'm _not_ kidn- _am I _kidnapping you?”

“I do not believe so. My last owners wanted me gone, so I did not belong to anyone. Now, I belong to you, Peter,” you informed him calmly, although your lips appeared to be fighting against a smile, which was the first sign of emotion he had seen you use.

“Oh, who were your previous owners?” He inquired, briefly glancing up to check that no-one was paying them any attention as they casually conversed with an inanimate object.

“Were they wizards?” Ned added, raising his eyebrows as he caught his friend's sceptical gaze. “What?! It's a magic mirror!”

You were silent for a while. The only reason neither boy dared prompt you was because of the dark look of immense conflict that flitted across your face. Going straight from a neutral to such an extreme expression unsettled Peter, making him wonder if he should be messing with something he didn't understand. He remembered what happened last time with the alien tech that almost cost his friends and classmates their lives.

He should probably call Mr. Stark...

“My first,” you hesitated, “_owners_ were people who possessed magic, yes. For a while I was passed down through the family, but eventually I was given away. People presume I am an ordinary mirror until I show myself, and then they get rid of me because they are afraid.” You shook your head unhappily. “Humans fear things they do not understand and miss out on knowledge because they are too afraid to learn them. You are different, Peter. Why are you not afraid?”

“I've faced far scarier things than you,” he admitted, a flash of radioactive green eyes entering his mind. “Plus, you're super interesting! I want to know more about you and your history. I-if you're okay with that, of course- it's totally fine if you're not, I absolutely understand that I'd be crossing some boundaries, and-”

You laughed – you actually _laughed;_ Peter didn't think you were able to – and cut him off with a shake of the head, seemingly becoming more animated as time passed. “No, I would like that. It has been a while since someone has spoken with me with such candor. I appreciate your honesty.”

Ned leaned closer to his friend, dropping his voice to a whisper. “But what happened to the wizards?”

*

Peter was focused on his homework, writing out sentences in Spanish and trying to recall all the iterations of irregular verbs. He was hunched over his desk, random objects shoved aside to leave just enough room for the worksheet and his hands. Aunt May was still at work and he had taken a break from patrolling after school when he realised he had quite a lot of homework and studying to do.

It had been a few weeks since finding the magic mirror - it took about that long for the sulphuric scent that permeated his room to fade entirely, and it was a literal breath of fresh air for him. Never again would he rummage around in nasty dumpsters, nope, Peter Parker had learnt his lesson and would never leap in gross garbage after shiny things ever again.

But really, he knew he was kidding himself. Abandoned things were just the _coolest_-

The mirror, which was currently stuck to the wall in front of him with some web fluid, illuminated briefly as you showed up. Karen hadn't found anything particularly malicious when scanning you. He glanced up at you with a fond smile: as odd as it sounded, he definitely counted you as a friend.

“Good afternoon, Peter,” you began with an odd look that didn't quite look like a grin. “I remembered something about my first owners.”

“The wizards?” He asked, his interest piqued as he dropped his pen, glad for a distraction.

“Yes, the wizards,” you confirmed.

Peter stared at you for a moment. There was something a little _off_ about your tone and demeanour: off like the food Aunt May tried to cook most nights. It was barely noticeable, but since you didn't seem to have a body he had become attuned to your expressions and voice. He decided that you would tell him if something was bothering you: he trusted your judgement.

“What, uh... what did you remember?”

The look was wiped with a wide smile, wider than he'd ever seen; wide like Ned's eyes when a new Lego set had been released. “I remembered a spell they said.”

“Oh? Do you- do you know what it does?” He sat up straighter, running a hand through his curls to keep his vision clear and his focus set on you.

You pondered for a moment. “Something to do with illusions, I believe.”

“Cool!” Peter's eyes glimmered with excitement. “How does it work? What do we do?”

“Well, I don't think you have any magic so you will need to touch the mirror,” you explained smoothly. “And then I will say the words to initiate the spell. Are you interested?”

“Of course! Absolutely! Magic- how could I- it's so awesome!” He scrambled to tug the mirror from the wall as he rambled, clutching the handle within his hands. “Okay, is this good?”

“Yes, that's perfect.” You closed your eyes, looked down – if there even was a down in the mirror? - and started speaking a language that Peter didn't understand.

It flowed like a river, each syllable falling from your lips and swirling around his mind. He was transfixed, feeling a cool tingle in his palms but seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

The front door clicked open and then slammed shut, breaking him from his reverie with a start. He dropped the mirror on the desk and listened hard, relaxing as he heard the familiar footsteps.

“Peter, I'm home!” May's voice rang out through the small apartment, “would you mind helping me with the shopping, sweetheart?”

“Coming!” He called back with a smile, before glancing down at you apologetically. “Sorry, I gotta help Aunt May. We can try again in a bit, if- if you want?”

You nodded slowly, your lips pressed in a thin line and your expression unreadable. Peter grinned guiltily again before rushing from the room.

*

More time passed. Peter would go about his usual, everyday routine, except now he took you everywhere. He went to Ned's to binge-watch Star Wars over the weekend after he learnt that you had never even _heard_ of the franchise. He kept you on his desk in class, hidden under his books, so you could listen and learn with him. He sometimes even carried you along with him on patrol, and there had been a few times when you were able to warn him of something he hadn't noticed before.

It had been over six months since you'd first met, and although it wasn't part of the initial plan, you had grown extremely fond of him. His exuberant and adorable personality kept you entertained whenever he rambled, losing himself in his own thoughts only to be dragged back to reality whenever you reminded him of the initial point he was trying to make. You had no clue what he was even talking about half the time and he had long since given up trying to teach you about science and maths, but you were content to just sit and listen, letting his enthusiasm wash over you.

His mobile phone rang on the bedside table, casting a light across the room that jolted you into alertness. He slammed his hand down on it almost immediately, snatching it away to squint at the screen and fumble until he answered the call.

“Kid, you awake?”

“W- I am now, Mr. Stark. What's... what do you need?” Peter rubbed his eyes aggressively, peering over at the clock which stated it was stupid-o'clock in the morning.

“Suit up. There's a guy I need your help with.” There was a pause before the man spoke again. “Wait, it's a Wednesday- it's a school night. Okay, scratch that, nevermind- get back to sleep, kid, sorry for disturbing you. You got a quiz tomorrow, right? You'll ace it, I'm certain.”

“No, Mr. Stark, it's fine! I just gotta-” He rolled out of bed, landing with a thud, still tangled in his sheets. “Just gimme a sec, I need to find my suit. (Y/N), you wanna come?”

You huffed, but appreciated his attention all the same. “You really should not be going, but I have a feeling I cannot stop you. I will join you.”

“_(Y/N)?_ You have a night-time companion there, Peter? Whoa, give a man some warning next time.”

Peter glanced your way with a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “No, that's not-”

“Unless you have a secret superhero pal, you can't just take a civilian onto the battlefield, I thought you knew this.”

“Mr. Stark, please-”

“Seriously, kid, it's superhero rule _numero uno_ that you don't take your lover into a fight.”

“_(Y/N) isn't my_\- you know what, nevermind. You're the worst, Mr. Stark.” He slapped the spider on his chest, causing the suit to shrink and cling to his form.

The man snorted faintly. “Thanks, kid. I'm glad you appreciate me calling you for a mission that I distinctly remember you were so desperate for-”

Peter shoved on his mask and opened the window, grabbing you before hopping out onto the metal fire escape. “No, no, thank you! Uh, um, where do we meet? What's going on?”

*

Mr. Stark dodged a hit from the baddie and briefly distracted him with a repulsor blast. “Spiderboy, you're gonna be on your own for a couple of minutes- there's something dodgy over here I need to handle. You think you can hold yours against this guy?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark! I've got this,” Peter assured through gritted teeth, you know, like a _liar_.

Could he handle bank robbers? Sure. Muggers? Easy. Big dudes with black eyes and charcoal-tinged fingers like he was some kind of demon? Uh... yeah, no, not so much.

His muscles were far too big for his tiny head, and the sight made Peter want to laugh- which, of course, he did to start with, but a bulky fist to the face was quick to silence him again. The mask was an annoyance as the blood from his painful nose could practically do nothing but drown him, but there were too many news helicopters hovering around for him to just swipe it off and breathe easy. After all, two superheroes – well, one famous superhero and another, lesser, but just as cool vigilante – battling it out against some freaky fellow in the streets of Brooklyn was a big story.

“That seriously doesn't look healthy, man,” Peter observed as he swung by, narrowly avoiding a hit. “You ought to get that checked out by a doctor. It looks like some kind of rash, or something.”

He used the big guy's momentum against him, leaping over a wild arm at the last second and webbing the blackened hand to the ground. The webs strained against a strong tug, but managed to stay stuck to the concrete, much to the teenager's relief.

“Hey, (Y/N), what should we call this guy?” Peter called to where you were stuck onto his back, keeping an eye on his six, just in case. “I'm thinkin' somethin' like... _El Diablo._”

“That is... okay...” You trailed off, watching as best you could from your vantage point and internally cheering when you noticed more webs anchoring the baddie's feet. “What about... what if he is just called Daemon?”

“That would be awesome!” He laughed emphatically, leaping off a building and managing to stick the final, free hand of the guy to a wall, fully restricting his movement. “If his mother just looked at him as a baby, and thought, 'yeah, this guy looks scary, I'm gonna call him Daemon,' and then he grows up into a big, scary dude, and takes his name far too seriously by trying to _kill some superheroes!_”

Peter dropped down in front of _Daemon_, exhaling an awed breath as he took in the size of the guy. He stepped forward, patting the villain on the shoulder – and whoa, okay, that feels like rock, _wow_ – and letting out a huff of surprised giggles when the bad guy tried to lunge for him.

“I think we need to muzzle you, dude, biting isn't cool,” Peter chuckled again, glancing behind him and grabbing the mirror off his back. “Look at this guy- I think he might be bigger than Thor! That's insane.”

You didn't get a chance to respond. There was a whirl of movement and a grunt of exertion and you were sent spinning through the air, barely catching a glimpse of red and blue as Peter was flung away. A crack appeared in your mirror and you could only watch as _Daemon_ stood up, loose webbing swinging from his fists, and an ominous shadow was cast over you as he stepped by, heading where your friend had tumbled.

Something was definitely wrong. You know Peter must've been unconscious because he was uncharacteristically silent, which meant bad news. From what you could hear, Tony was busy with whatever he was stuck with, but was yelling out to his kid in a desperate attempt to warn him. The logical side of you knew that there was nothing you could do – you'd been stuck in the mirror for centuries with your only possible way out being the switching spell you tried on Peter, months ago – and yet you found yourself squirming, thrashing, raising the hands you'd forgotten you had to slam them against the glass of your prison.

You could hear the thudding footsteps come to a stop. You had to get out, you _had_ to, you couldn't let Peter_ die-_

A new crack darted across the surface. You blinked at it for a microsecond in amazement, before drawing back a fist and closing your eyes against a blinding flash.

Concrete. Colours. Chaos.

You choked in a breath – _air,_ real, actual _air_ – clumsily picking yourself off the ground and immediately stumbling towards your fallen friend. Your feet were catching on every uneven surface, causing you to topple, but you were still desperately running, slamming your palms to the tarmac and scraping the skin; but it didn't _matter_ because _Daemon_ was leering down at the superhero, one massive hand crushing the small body into the stone; but you were nearly there, not knowing what you could do to help because it had been so long since you had a physical form but it didn't _matter_ because you had to save Peter, you _had_ to, _you had to-_

With the force of a charging bull, you rammed into the side of _Daemon_, bringing him down in a graceless tackle. The pair of you landed with a thud, and you didn't dare take a moment to breathe, instead raising a bruised fist and jamming it into his ugly, stupid face with all your rage from a thousand years of imprisoned solitude, and you hit him over, and over, and _over_-

And you took a breath. He was still. Your hand was bloody.

You shakily tumbled off Damon's unconscious body, crawling the last few feet to where Peter lay. He shifted with a suppressed whimper of pain, and you lightly touched his shoulder, settling in a sprawling kneel next to his form.

“You are safe, Peter,” you assured him in a voice softer than you knew possible. “It is okay.”

“What...” The eyes on his suit blinked open, as wide as they could go, and he stared up at you in shock. “(Y/N)? But... you're... what...?”

“I could not let him hurt you.” You glared over at Damon. “I would not let you die.”

“But you... mirror?” He struggled into a sitting position, dazedly looking over as Iron Man swooped in. “I don't...”

“Kid, hey, you okay?” Mr. Stark's voice was laced with heavy concern, palms hesitantly hovering over the spider-suit.

“I'm fine, Mr. Stark...” Peter wouldn't take his gaze off you. “How did you get out?”

The man finally noticed your presence, seemingly putting two and two together to work out what had happened. “You're Peter's mirror friend, aren't you? How did you even... you know what, that doesn't matter. Thanks for saving the kid.”

You stayed silent for a moment before giving in to your impulses, leaning forwards to wrap your arms around Peter, gently, cautiously, because you weren't yet familiar with your own strength and didn't want to hurt him any more. He reciprocated almost immediately; you loved the warmth of his chest against your own, and the gentle security of his hands on your back. The tension and stress eased from your shoulders as he squeezed you lightly, causing you to practically slump against him, revelling in every little detail: his heartbeat, his scent, his sound.

You were _safe._

“Okay, well, this was nice, but it's a school night and you kids should be in bed.”

“_Mr. Stark_, come on!”


End file.
